


Faustian Blues

by Gravity_Sun



Series: JayDick Week October 2016 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Dark, Deal with a Devil, Demon Deals, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Mental Instability, Mentions of Suicide, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, Past Child Abuse, Please Don't Hate Me, Self-Harm, no happy ending, sorry this is a sad one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gravity_Sun/pseuds/Gravity_Sun
Summary: “You have to say it, Jason.” She continues “Do we have a deal?”Something deep in you is screaming for you to run. You push it down.“Deal.”   What would you sell your soul for? JayDick Week 3 Day 2 - Contract with the Devil





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote it second person pov again. Fight me IRL

You first feel it on a Thursday. You’re halfway across jumping to a rooftop when the hairs on your neck prick up and you feel a chill like you never have before. Chills you down to the bones, before passing just as quickly as it’s come on.  
  


You blow the jump and catch yourself on a fire escape, dislocating your shoulder.  
  


Later, when your lover asks what happened, you answer true:  
  
“I have no idea.”

X

You’re 28 and you wake in a cold sweat, pushing back the images from your nightmare that are still kicking their way to the surface. The stench of blood, the feel of it on your skin, you were drowning in it and feeling so cold, so _cold_ , down to your very core.  
  


You slide out of bed to let your lover sleep. Rinse the taste of sulfur out of your mouth.

X

You’re leaving the bodega, arm full of groceries when you first see her. Pretty blonde thing, struggling with her bags.  
  


The well-mannered instincts that Alfred drove into you kick in, and you approach her, as non-intimidating as all 6’2, 200+ pounds, subtly armed to the nines, can manage, and offer your help. She smiles at you, all teeth, tells you she lives nearby and you grab her bags along with your own and follow her.  
  


You ask where she’s from. You can tell she’s not a Gotham native, and she just tells you ‘someplace far away, no one would ever want to go there’ and you figure it’s Missoula or Pensacola or some shit.  
  
“Okay, so, I’ve gotta repay you somehow.” she says  
  


You laugh, dismiss her but she is insistent. When you tell her there’s nothing she could do for you, she says:  
  
“Have you ever heard the fable, of the lion and the mouse?”  
  


You have, but you let her fill the silence with it anyway.  
  
“Once upon a time, a tiny field mouse woke a lion who was sleeping. When the lion caught the mouse, and prepared to devour him, the mouse begged him to free him, vowed that he would repay him some day if he did. The lion laughed,” She looks over her shoulder, winks at you “Because, how could such a tiny creature ever repay him? Still, he was kind, and amused, so he let the mouse go.  
  


Later, while prowling the forest, the lion found himself stuck in a hunter’s trap. Hearing the lion’s roars, the little mouse came, and chewed through the ropes, freeing the lion. He scolded the lion, saying ‘You laughed when I said I would repay you. Now, you see that even a mouse can help a lion.’”  
  
“So,” You begin, after she’s finished “You’re saying that I’m the lion and you’re the mouse? And one day, when I least expect it, you’re gonna repay me?”  
  


She grins at you, over her shoulder.  
  
“Something like that, Jason.”  
  


You tense, mentally go over the locations of your weapons. Stop mid step.  
  
“I never told you my name.”  
  
“You didn’t have to.” She says, grinning, ear to ear, all teeth. “I’ve known you for quite some time, Jason Peter Todd.”  
  


You swallow, try to quell the fear in your stomach.  
  
“Really? Because you can’t be more than, what? 22?”  
  


She laughs and despite yourself, you continue to follow after her, still carrying.  
  
“I’m older than you can possibly fathom, Jason. Though, it’s been years since we last saw each other. 20, to be precise.”  
  


You remember your dream, the bone chilling cold on the roof.  
  
_‘No. No way.’_  
  
“You’re insane.”  
  
“Hardly.” she says, turning to you and the groceries disappear from your hands “But, I do believe in repaying debts. In this case, you owe one to me. A rather large one, that’s come due.”  
  
_‘I need you to say it, Jason. Do we have a deal?’_  
  
“No.” You say, shaking your head “No. You’re crazy. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“I made good on my end of the deal, Jason. It’s time for you to make good on yours.”  
  
“No.” You say again, turning and walking, nearly running, away “No.”  
  
“You can’t escape this, Jason.” she calls after you “Can’t escape me. I am **eternal.”**  
  


Later, you’ve just managed to force yourself to stop shaking by the time your lover comes home. He’s all smiles, asks what happened to you cooking dinner, asks what’s wrong.  
  


You lie to him.

X

The nightmares start, days later. Always different yet somehow always the same. You’re fighting then you’re running. You’re lost and wandering. You’re flying then falling. It doesn’t matter. You always end up the same place. In the dark. In the deep cold dark, alone and empty. You scream and nothing comes out. You cry and no tears fall. There’s nothing.  
  


When you wake, screaming, your lover holds you each night, tight in arms that are deceptively strong. Presses kisses to your skin and makes love to you, slowly, deeply. Filling you up with warmth and love until there’s nothing but him and heat and light.  
  


But.  
  


It doesn’t last.  
  


When he asks if you’re okay each morning, you lie.

X  
  


You’re 8-years-old and you’re nursing a black eye and a fat lip, and what you’ll later realize is a cracked rib.  
  


Mom got the worst of it, you know. You can tell by the way she locks herself in her room. Didn’t even take her drugs with her. Just didn’t want you to see her like that.  
  


Your father is gone, but he’ll be back. You know he will. And then this will start all over again.  
  


An endless cycle.

You suck down another cigarette to kill the hunger pains and prepare to head back inside, when a voice speaks to you.  
  
“It doesn’t have to be that way, you know.”  
  


You look ap and it’s a woman, about your mother’s age, short black hair, no coat, despite the cold.  
  
“Be like what?” You ask  
  
“An endless cycle.”  
  


You didn’t realize you’d been talking out loud.  
  
“Aren’t you cold?” You ask  
  


She smiles at you. All teeth.  
  
“Never,” She answers  
  


Something in you, something deep seated and instinctive is screaming at you. Telling you to run To leave.  
  


But you don’t.  
  
“Are you with Child Services?”  
  
“No.” She answers, but before you can press onward, she continues “It doesn’t have to be this way, Jason.”  
  
_‘How does she know my--.’_  
  
“I know many things, Jason. Just like, I know that you can stop what happened here. I can stop what happened here. Make it so your father goes away, can’t hit you or your mother again.”  
  
“Are you a cop?”  
  
She chuckles.  
  
“No,” she answers “Aren’t you a curious one?”  
  


You don’t answer. She continues.  
  
“It’d be easy. And it would only cost you one, tiny little thing. And you wouldn’t even have to pay today.”  
  
“I don’t have any money.”  
  
“Money is not what I’m after.”  
  
“Well, I think I’m a bit too young for you.”  
  


She grins.  
  
“Now, yes. But, that’s also not what I want.”  
  
“Well then, what is it?”  
  


Something in you is screaming but your limbs don’t move. You try to run but can’t. As strong as the force is pulling you to leave, something is pulling you to stay.  
  
“Your soul.”  
  


You stare at her for a long beat, expecting her to laugh. The wind blows, what you know should be a biting breeze but you don’t feel it .When she doesn’t laugh, you do.”  
  
“My soul.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Lady, are you crazy?”  
  
“Hardly.”  
  
“I don’t believe in souls.”  
  
“That’s a shame. But it doesn’t matter.”  
  
“You want me to sell you something I don’t believe in?”  
  


She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you expectantly. It feels like hours pass, and eventually, you ask.  
  
“You can make him go away?”  
  


She nods.  
  
“And he won’t be able to hurt Mom anymore?”  
  
“Or you,” she adds  
  


You dismiss her addition. That’s not important. You just don’t want to see her bloodied and broken like that. Ever again.  
  
“And all it’ll cost you... is something you don’t even believe in. And you don’t even have to pay up now.”  
  


She taps her chin thoughtfully.  
  
“You’re a sweet kid.”  
  


You scoff.  
  
“I’ll give you... 20 years. 20 years and then I’ll come to collect. What do you say?”  
  


You’re laughing in your head. You don’t imagine you’ll even be alive in 20 years. The way things are now, the way your stomach rumbles it doesn’t look promising.  
  


She looks at you, before standing.  
  
“Hungry, eh?” she asks “Well, can’t expect you to make a deal on an empty stomach. Let’s go.”  
  


Despite yourself, you follow her to the diner down the street.  
  
“Chocolate shake, burger and fries. Classic.” she says, regarding your order  
  


The diner is mostly empty, and the few that are there, mostly street walkers and drunks and taxi drivers, don’t seem to notice your presence.  
  


You cut a slice off of the burger for yourself, and take a few fries before setting the rest aside.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asks  
  
“Mom, she likes the burgers here.” You say “I wanted to give her some.”  
  
You don’t mention she hasn’t eaten in at least 2 days.  
  


There’s almost a soft look in her eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by amusement.  
  
“Is that right?” She asks “Well, in that case?”  
  


She summons the waitress over, orders 2 more burgers to go, and asks you to eat the one you have.  
  


You do. You only hope you aren’t eating too fast, too desperate. Can’t let it be too obvious that you haven’t eaten in days. Because that’s when CPS comes and then they take you away. And you can’t leave Mom. You need to be getting back to her.  
  
“There.” she says, handing you the bags of food, as you follow her back home.  
  
“So. What do you say?” She asks “Do we have a deal?”  
  


You blink up at her. She’s probably just some crazy lady who does this to help people, you tell yourself. You don’t have a soul. No one does.  
  


You shift the bags of food, heavy and warm in your arms. Look at the candles in your apartment window, power is out again. Mom’ll be cold.”  
  
You nod.”  
  
“You have to say it, Jason.” She continues “Do we have a deal?”  
  
Something deep in you is screaming for you to run. You push it down.  
  
“Deal.”  
  


A chill runs through you like you’ve never felt. All at once you’re aware of how cold it is outside, combined with the cold in your body, down to your very core. You shut your eyes against the biting cold.  
  


When you open them again, she’s gone.

Your father goes to prison shortly after that, and then dies after that.  
  


Then Mom.

You pushed the memory away, buried it deep down.

X

You’re 28 and playing footsie with your lover at a local diner. You hate the public affection, but he loves it, so you love it. When he looks at you it’s like he’s looking at the whole world, at the universe. Eyes like sapphires and you’ve long since given up pretending that that’s not how you look at him. Because Dick is everything and all things. He has the universe contained within him.  
  


When a waitress drops a burger, fries and chocolate shake in front of you, you tense so hard the water glass cracks in your hand.  
  
“We didn’t order this.” Dick says  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry. Must’ve gotten it confused with another customer.”  
  


Dick cranes his neck to look around.  
  
"There’s no one else here.”  
  
“It’s fine.” You say, before he can press further  
  
“But--.”  
  
“It’s fine.” You say again “I’m not hungry anymore anyway.”  
  


You leave the booth before he can question you.

X

You’re 28, and a cute girl winks at you from across a game of pool that you’re about to win.  
  


A chill runs through you, so powerful and sudden, and you leave in such a rush that you leave $500 on the table.

X

A homeless man calls you by name in the park, and you punch him out cold.

X

A little girl asks you to hold her hand, to help her cross the street. When you ask where her mom is, she gives you _that look_ , and you that look.  
  
“At home.” She lies  
  


Her hand is thin and frail in yours as you help her cross the crosswalk. You wonder if you should slip her a few bucks for food, ask some of the corner workers to look out for her, when her grip turns ice cold, firm as iron, and when you try to pull away, she holds you firm, looks at you with ice blue eyes.  
  
“You can’t run away from this, Jason.” She says, and you freeze “You owe a debt. And you will pay in the end.”  
  


You’re 28, and still shaking on the sidewalk 10 minutes after she’s gone.

X

You’re 28 and you wake from another night terror with your hand around your love’s neck, his fingers digging into your arm.  
  


Later, you ask him if he’s okay.  
  


With a shaking voice, he lies.

X

The voices start on a lazy Sunday. They are random, sudden and quick and you’re not sure which would be worse. This, or having them be constant.  
  


They sound like your mother, your father, like Bruce. Sound like the children you were unable to save, all of the people you let down.  
  


You sleep with music blaring and the lights on, hoping it’ll drown out the voices.

It doesn’t.

X

The first time you took a blade to yourself you were 9 and you wanted to know what it felt like. Wanted to feel... _anything_.  
  


You liked it so much that it scared you. You knew addicts. You vowed to never become one, to anything, ever.

You’re 28 sitting on the floor of your bathroom, taking your love’s straight blade to your ankle. Easier to hide than the wrist, you tell yourself, and each slice is a sweet morsel of pain. A moment of silence. This pain you can quantify. Can control. It has a beginning and an end.  
  


The voices in your head go quiet and you fall asleep on the tile, blood running down your feet.

X  
  


You wake in the morning, your wounds bandaged and your head in your love’s lap, tears running down his cheeks.

This time, when he asks, you tell the truth.

X

When your love lies to you, you can tell. You’ve been able to tell for many years. You know something is wrong. Can see it in the way he walks. The way he jumps at any noise. The way he tenses when a door opens or he looks in a mirror.  
  


When you lay him down and press a kiss to each eyelid, he wakes screaming mere hours later.  
  


When you bandage his wounds, he cuts up new ones.  
  


When you talk and he doesn’t answer, you know it’s because he isn’t sure if it’s you or the voices.  
  


The first time he looks at you, touches your face as if he’s afraid you’ll break, and asks if it’s really you this time, you both cry together.  
  


He’s drowning. Lying, pretending to tread water when he’s being dragged by the undertow, washed away in the current.  
  


You feed him, but the weight falls of anyway. You kiss him, make love to him, but you can see the light die in his eyes, as each day you can count more ribs.  
  


You find him on the rooftop one night, half a fifth in his belly, standing on the ledge.  
  


You ask if he wants to jump. He tells you he’s not sure. He doesn’t know what he’s more afraid of, staying or going.

When he finally tells you the truth, that he’s been lost at sea for weeks now, you vow to keep him here with you.  
  


Even if you have to burn down the world to do it.

You reach out to ever mage, magician, dabbler that you know. None can help. They either don’t believe you, or tell you he is beyond help.

Fate explains to you that your love has meddled with a cosmic entity. That not even someone such as him can change it.  
  


It is an absolute. A fixed point in time.

You come home early one night and find your love, staring at a photo album tears running down his cheeks, lost in memories, boxes packed around him.  
  
You were supposed to be gone 2 more days, and the alarm in his eyes tell you what you were afraid of.  
  


You grab hold of him, frail and light, he feels so small in your arms.  
  
“Just one more day.” You sob, pleading into his shoulder “Please. Just stay one more day.”

He doesn’t scream that night. He hasn’t made a sound in days.

You meet the Devil a crossroad and a twinge of familiar cliche runs through you. It’s cold, but she’s not shivering, and soon you stop shivering too.  
  
“I bet I can guess why you’re here.” she says, grinning, ice blue eyes and all teeth  
  
“You have to stop this.” You say “You’re killing him.”  
  
“Actually, I quite like Jason. So that’s why that’s the one thing I’m not doing.”  
  
“So you’d rather he just kill himself.  
  


She gives an easy shrug.  
  
“What is the use of a soul without life? Without love and beauty? Pain and anguish? I want Jason to experience everything. After a decade of love from you, I want him to lose everything. To know true despair. One way, or the other, his soul will be mine. He made a deal with me, after all.”  
  
“He was a child!” you scream. She doesn’t flinch “He was 8 and he sold his soul for his dad to stop beating his mom, and for some food.”  
  
“And I upheld that end of the bargain.” she says “A deal is a deal, Richard.”  
  
“A deal from a child?”  
  
“Yes. A deal from a child.” She says “You can’t stop this.”  
  


You know this. Deep within your core you know this.  
  
“If he loses his soul, what’ll... will he die?”  
  
“No.” she says, simply “Not technically, anyway.”  
  


You look at her, confused.  
  
“The soul is the spark of life. It’s what causes us to love, to hope. To dream and dare. So, no. He won’t die. His heart will keep beating. Lungs will keep breathing.”  
  
“But, he’d be empty.”  
  


She doesn’t answer.  
  
“No.” You say, after a beat “No. I can’t-- you can’t do this.”  
  


She laughs, an oddly beautiful sound, yet haunting. Like church bells in the night.”  
  
“I can and I will.” she replies “A deal **is** a deal.”

You shut your eyes, heart thudding against your chest.  
  


You see your love’s face. The scars he’s carved into his skin, the dullness in his eyes. The spark of life that’s just a smoldering pile now.  
  
“Take me.” You say “Take mine.”  
  


She looks at you, not at all surprised.  
  
“Take mine instead” You continue  
  
“Do you realize what you’re doing.” She says, taking a slow step towards you “What you’re actually saying.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’re willing to make a contact with me. To trade your soul instead of his.”  
  
“Yes.” you say, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Because it is. You won’t let him suffer.  
  


She regards you thoughtfully, before speaking.  
  
“I like you.” She says “So, I’ll give you the same deal as his. 20 years. Then it’s mine.”  
  
“Yes.” you say again  
  
“You realize, Richard John Grayson, that just like him, you won’t be able to weasel out of this? No magic or religion. No more deals. I won’t let him give up his soul for you. You realize, that if you agree to this, there is no going back?”  
  


Something small in you screams. Tells you to run. To kick against the current that is the smooth honey of her voice.  
  


A larger part of you tries to remember the last time your love laughed.

“Yes.”  
  
She grins at you, all teeth.  
  
“You get 20 years, and I won’t take Jason’s soul. 20 years then your soul is mine. Do we have a deal?’  
  


You’ve left Jason for so long. You asked him for one more night and it’s nearly dawn.  
  
“Deal.”

You feel a chill within you for hours.

When you return home, your love is actually asleep. In bed. Not reeking of booze or pills.

When you wake, hours later, you find him in the living room, eyes shut.  
  
“What are you doing?” You ask  
  
“Shs.” He says “I’m listening.”  
  
“For what?”  
  


He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t say anything, or move for several long minutes, and you begin to think he’s forgotten you’re there when he speaks.  
  
“I don’t hear it.”  
  
“Hear what?”  
  
“Anything. I don’t... they’re gone. It’s gone.”

X

Your lover spends the next few days nursing you back to health, pressing kisses to fading wounds and scars.  
  


It’s days before you have the nerve to breach the subject. To ask ‘what happened?’.  
  


And when you do, you see it all over his face.  
  


You feel sick to your stomach. He tries to hide it, but you can tell.  
  
“What... what did you do?” You force out  
  


You already know the answer.  
  
“Nothing.” He insists, flashing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Eyes that still look at you like you’re the universe. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yes.” You lie

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah yeah yeah. I know I'm moving at a snail's pace for this challenge week, but these prompts are kicking my ass.


End file.
